


Heart of Stone

by CalliopeWayne



Category: DCU (Comics), Smallville, Superman - All Media Types, The Adventures of Superman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Amputation, Batman References, Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne Has Secrets, Bruce Wayne Visits Smallville, Clark Kent Needs a Hug, DC Comics References, Dark Clark Kent, F/M, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Good Parent Lillian Luthor, Hurt Clark Kent, Krypton, Kryptonite, Metahumans, Meteor Mutant Lana, Minor Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Minor Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Minor Original Character(s), Monsters, Mystery, Original Character(s), POV Clark Kent, Past Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, Past Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Past Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Pete Ross - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Clark Kent, Superfamily (DCU), Superpowers, Supervillains, Young Clark Kent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalliopeWayne/pseuds/CalliopeWayne
Summary: Clark Kent is dealing with the aftermath of fatally wounding one of his best friends. He views himself as a monster and vows to never use his powers again. When he finds a doctor in Metropolis that can supposedly cure him of his meta gene, he jumps on the chance to be a normal boy like everybody else. But things are not as they seem. Clark finds himself in the sight of a serial killer, targeting meta humans. He is forced to make some difficult choices on his journey.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Lex Luthor, Clark Kent & Lois Lane, Clark Kent & Original Female Character(s), Clark Kent & Pete Ross, Clark Kent/Lana Lang, Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on DC characters. I've been a long time Superman fan from day 1 and always longed for a story that shows Clark Kent struggling with his powers, and overtime realizing they're a gift that he can use for the good of humanity; he wasn't born wanting to be a hero.
> 
> Heart of Stone does not fall into any canon - though I do borrow snippets from shows or books I like. This is my take on Clark Kent's early years. Fingers crossed it would be the first in a trilogy I have planned. Please vote and comment. Happy reading!

Chapter 1

The trees grow close together in the woods, nearly suffocating me. The tree trunks are prison bars closing around me, but no prison cell can hold me. I look down at my hands and recoil. Five fingers on each hand, like everybody else. No scales to speak of. It doesn’t matter. Those hands are a weapon, a deadly weapon that does more bad than good. I might look like everybody else on the outside, but I am anything but. I am a monster. I am cursed. Everything I touch, I break. It’s only a matter of time before I make another mistake. 

I shove my fists into my coat pocket, and I turn down a familiar worn dirt path. I’ve walked down this road more times than I care to remember but now each step is a punch to the gut. There’s the overturned old trunk Pete and I used to play ‘Pirates’ in. Over there yonder, across the rolling cornfields, past the swamp, and through a tangle of weeds and skeletal branches, is the treehouse Pete and I built; Pete dubbed it our ‘Fortress of Solitude,’ a safe haven away from girls with the cooties. That never stopped Jill Kent though. She’s about as subtle as a locomotive. 

Because of me, Pete will never be able to climb the ladder up to the fortress ever again. All my fault. I should have listened to Dad. It was a mistake joining the football team. And I had been so careful, running slow as molasses, even tripping over the ball on numerous occasions, to the point I was nicknamed King Klutz. It only took one second of lapse in judgment to ruin everything. Freaks don’t get to play football with normal people. Freaks don’t get to have friends. Freaks like me, deserve to be buried alive and lost to the idles of time. 

I kick a stray pebble, and wince when the force of my kick rockets the rock into outer space. Good gravy! I watch the pebble disappear into the gray sky, and groan. Yep, that’s right. Nothing can be simple with me. Even my kick has to be a ticking time bomb. I feel like I live in a world that’s made out of cardboard - always having to take constant care not to break something . . . or someone. Too late. That cardboard world is crumbling as easily as a game of dominoes. 

I comb my fingers through my messy, black hair and let out a frustrated sigh. To continue, or not to continue? Now that is the question. My heart beats a mile a minute. Down that hill is nothing but misery, a reminder of why I can’t be around other people. An echo of a past I must erase. Pete Ross would have been better off if he never knew me. 

But Pete has been my best friend since our days in the sandbox together, back when my only worry was pleasing the grownups.We went on our first camping trip together. Pete was there when I lost my first tooth - he was the one who knocked it out with a well aimed left hook. I owe him a goodbye at least. But I can’t stomach seeing him so helpless. It would be best for everyone involved if I left. I am not that simple little boy any longer. My strength is a weakness I can’t afford to exploit. I need to find somewhere I would never hurt another soul . . . or rid myself of this curse. 

I finally reach Braverman Field and the sight fills me with dread. Squeezed at the bottom of the sweeping green hill, behind a picket white fence, is a quaint house, not unlike my own. Patched up frost-cloths cover Mrs. Ross’s tulip pots by the door. I envy the flowers, I wish I could hide out all day in a pot. I doubt a rose would have to worry about crippling a friend. Though having bees suck the life out of me could prove problematic. 

I sigh. Pete will be waiting for me inside, or what is left of him. It’s not too late, I can still turn back. Home is only a mile away. No one has seen me. Alarm bells blare in my head as I draw closer. I’m the last person Pete wants to see. I ruined his life. He can kiss his dream of being a pro basketball player goodbye, thanks to moi. I stand frozen before the door. Mrs. Ross hasn’t taken down the Christmas wreath yet, and the scent of pine and Christmas still lingers in the air. My throat tightens. I helped the twins make that wreath. 

The door creaks open, and the choice is ripped out of my grasp. It’s as if she were waiting for me to show up on her doorstep. Mrs. Ross’s round frame blocks the doorway. Her warm brown eyes take me in inch by inch, and I feel like she is digging into my soul. Sometimes I wonder if she’s the one with X-ray vision, not me. Her timing couldn’t be worse. So much, for running away with my tail between my legs. No siree, not under Mrs. Ross’s watch. Worry wrinkles line her brown face. I brace myself for the screaming, but instead her eyes twinkle like Christmas lights when she sees me. 

“Clark!” she pulls me into a suffocating hug with her strong, dark baker arms. Her wiry brown curls tickle my face as she squeezes me tight. I take great pains to relax my muscles, and hold my breath, praying I don’t hurt her. She smells of cinnamon and fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. It feels strange being in someone else’s embrace that is not my mom. Despite my fears, I find myself hugging her back. I’m stunned speechless. She has every reason to hate me, yet she embraces me as one of her own. My throat grows raw with emotion. She would not be so kind to me when senior year rolls around and there are no scouts knocking at her door. 

She releases me tentatively as if she can sense the turmoil boiling beneath the surface. She flicks one finger under my chin and forces me to look her in the eyes. Deep brown eyes filled with trust and love. “Pete is as much to blame Clark.” No she’s wrong. I was in control of my own actions. I did not have to push myself to go so fast. I let my arrogance get the better of me. We won the game but at a cost.“He put you in an impossible situation.” The sound of Pete’s back snapping reverberates in my mind. I close my mind off to the memories. 

“I’m sorry . . . was a mistake.” I stumble over my words, slipping my backpack off. I fumble with the zipper, my fingers as slippery as a stingray’s underbelly. Mrs. Ross places a hand over mine, halting my motions. 

“Whatever goodies you have in there you can give to Pete yourself,” she says sincerely. “Come along son.” 

The Ross’ home is messy but cosy; it has a lived in feeling that you can only find in Smallville. Granted, I've never ventured out of my home town, so what do I know? Dirty dishes are stacked up in the sink; if I squint the stack resembles The Leaning Tower Pisa. A plate of untouched grilled cheese sandwiches sit on the kitchen table, long since gone cold. Flies swarm greedily around the sandwiches. Christmas wrapping paper lays in disarray across the floor, a reflection of the turmoil in the household. A framed picture of Lieutenant Jefferson Ross sits proudly on the mantle, his medals hanging on the wall behind him. 

I follow Mrs. Ross up the rickety steps, dread creeping into the darkest corners of my mind.We pass a wall covered head to toe with hand drawn pictures. There’s the Timon and Pumba drawing Pete drew in Pre-K. I recognize my own squiggly drawing of Hawkman and Power Girl, and my mood sours even more. An itty-bitty me is squeezed between Power Girl and Hawkman each holding onto one of my hands, as we float over a half-assed barn that looks more like an angry Jackson Pollock painting. I remember I was missing a black crayon, so I gave Power Girl blue hair instead of black, which made her look more like a smerf, than the superhero I idolized. 

That was back when I believed the impossible was possible and I wasn’t alone in the universe. I was obsessed with the JSA growing up. I used to stay up all night, waiting for Power Girl to come whisk me away on some mad adventure, and teach me how to control my powers. Keyword: _was._ Power Girl never knocked on my window. Hawkman never stepped in to teach the bullies at school a lesson with his mace. A child’s fantasy. They’re nothing but comic book characters, there to serve as a light in the darkness and confusion of childhood. I’ve long since outgrown heroes. Humans can’t fly or wield a mace with the power of thunder. Humans can’t run back in time. 

Humans can’t light a candle with a single look. And yet, here I am, with more powers than anyone should have a right to have. I’m a walking ticking time bomb. If Power Girl truly was real, why hasn’t she reached out to me? I clench my fists. I need to accept facts. I am the only one like me in the universe. Friends are an anomaly I can’t afford. This is a farewell to Pete Ross. After today, I am never going to speak to him again or another living soul; it’s for the best. People like me don’t get the luxury of having friends. 

Mrs. Ross stops before a familiar door with a basketball hoop hanging on the front. The hoop is crooked as if someone recently pulled on it with a death grip. Scratches slash across the door frame. Visions of Pete struggling flash across my mind. Fear takes ahold of me like a giant with an iron grip. I struggle to breathe. I must have an expression of pure terror because Mrs. Ross quickly reassures, “It’ll be alright,” before opening the door. 

The smell hits me first: leftover pizza and dirty socks wrapped up in a blanket of misery. The room is pitch black except for a TV screen on the wall across from the bed, playing reruns of Scooby Doo. It brings back memories of simpler times when I didn’t have powers and we would stay up all night reenacting episodes of Scooby Doo. I usually ended up being Shaggy. Those were the good, old days. Now the memory turns to ash in my mouth. My throat stings. A patch of ghostly light cuts across the room. An ebony bedpost rises out of the shadows. I can make out the fuzzy silhouette of my friend propped up against the stark pillow. The white of Pete’s eyes shine through the darkness, watching me with a heavy gaze. There was a time I could read Pete’s expression like a book, but now his face is as motionless as his legs. My only hope is that he is not in too much pain. 

I take one step, trip over a stray ball, and stumble into the room. My arms flail about, trying to find a hold on something . . . anything at all to halt my fall. My fists close around empty air - I fall unceremoniously on my rear end. And there is a distinct crunching noise. My heart jumps all the way to my throat. I swear as I clumsily climb back to my feet. There is a squashed skateboard at my feet. I’ve lost track of how many toys I’ve murdered in cold blood. I’m Woody and Buzz’s worst nightmare. I climb to my feet and wait for Pete to make a snide joke about my clumsiness. Pete does nothing of the sort. He stares with dead eyes at the TV, pretending I don’t exist. A silence so sharp it could cut through steel stretches out between us. Pete and I are only feet apart, but I feel like I’m stranded on another planet. 

A shadow breaks away from the mass of darkness. “Silly Clark,” Daphne strides to my side, smiling fondly up at me, but all the while she keeps a wary eye on her brother. “Clumsy as ever,” she shakes her bushy head, mimicking her mom’s tone expertly. “Clark Kent will always have two left feet, even when he’s a hundred.” she shakes a scolding finger at me and raises one eyebrow acutely. I’m a bit taken aback by her sudden appearance. But I guess I should have expected she would be at her big bros side for this ordeal. She shoves her tiny fist between my fingers, and guides me to Pete’s bedside. 

“I told you he’d come,” the excitement in her voice is contagious, but Pete does not move from his position, continuing to glare at the TV as if by mere force of look he could make it explode. “Pete?” Daphne nudges her brother softly in the side. “It’s your best bud,” she says in a sing-song voice, much too chipper for the dank room. I feel like I have stepped into a black hole, that is slowly devouring all the light. 

“Get that fucking mutant out of my room.” I flinch at his cold tone, so unlike Pete's usual chipper demeanor. Though I can't blame him. No. There is only one person in this room to blame for Pete's sour mood, and so much more. I don't miss how Pete avoids looking at me. A chill settles over the room, and it has nothing to do with the brewing Winter outdoors. I want to apologize but no words would make a difference. They don’t exactly make cards for ‘Sorry I got you paralized.’ 

Mutant. Not Clark, or Speedy. I swallow hard, my throat growing tight. There was a time my metahuman status was viewed as a badge of honor. I could run to China and back in the blink of an eye, bringing all sorts of delicacies back with me. I beat Dean Reeve at arm wrestling, winning Pete countless bets. I was good for poker games, but not much else. When my friend looks at me now, all he sees is a mutant who ruined his life. No amount of dumplings from Hong Kong will bring my friend back. The comic books turn to stone in my backpack. I scurt back towards the door and bump into Mrs. Ross. 

“I sure hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth!” Mrs. Ross thunders. I open my mouth to explain it’s totally alright, I deserve much worse than the ‘F’ word but my mouth refuses to work. I can focus on nothing but Pete’s slack figure, rendered almost unrecognizable by harsh lines and turbulent features that remind me of a black hole slowly devouring all the light in the room. Pete slumps back into his pillow, his dark eyes swirling with unsaid words, but he remains silent. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Daphne chides, squeezing my hand in her tiny one. “Of course you forgive King Klutz.” Daphne looks between the two of us, heartbroken. “You’re best buds, and friends forgive each other when they do stupid things.” I’m afraid it’s not that simple. I’m not Pete’s friend anymore. “You’re like Todd and Copper, and no matter what, you got each other’s backs,” her lower lip trembles as she says that. 

Pete glowers at Daphne. “This is not just some stupid Disney movie where I can dance away my problems!” He flinches at the word ‘dance.’ “He destroyed my life!” In a fit of passion, Pete knocks over his bedside lamp and it lands with a resounding crash on the woodlined floor. Daphne shrieks and runs out of the room, whimpering. 

Mrs. Ross lets out a heavy sigh. For a second guilt flashes across Pete’s features as he locks eyes with his Mom. Her shoulders slump with exhaustion, and she looks between the door and her son indecisively. Daphne’s soft cries can be heard all the way from downstairs. I sometimes forget at the end of the day Dapnee is just a little kid; she sometimes acts older than her six years. Mrs. Ross ultimately decides her youngest needs her more, and slips out of the room muttering a hurried, “Behave yourself,” over her shoulder. 

I wish she hadn’t left. I feel like a sheep being led to slaughter. There is no Daphne or Mrs. Ross to hide behind. A silence stretches between us as thick as a bank vault. The iron wall grows ever stronger between us, and no matter how hard I punch I can’t break through. The TV is the only sound in the room, but even that feels like a distant echo, far away in another galaxy. 

I can’t stand the silence any longer. “Sorry,” I choke out. Sometimes, it’s easiest to rip the bandaid off nice and quick. “I should have been more careful . . . heat of the moment, you know how it is?” I wince. Heat of the moment? That is the stupidest, most unfeeling thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. I wring my hands together, that’s no excuse. “I had no business being on the field . . I’m a terrible friend. If you never want to talk to me again, I understand,” I say this all in a rush.

Pete crosses his arms but otherwise shows no indication of hearing me. At least he’s not screaming at me, that’s encouraging, right? 

“I don’t need your forgiveness,” I say cautiously. “I just wanted you to know . . . that is . . . I mean if I could take back what I did, I would,” I struggle to form a coherent sentence. I wish I had no powers to begin with. None of this would have happened if I were plain, ordinary Clark Kent. Emphasis on the _ordinary_. “I never meant to hurt you, man.” Pete slowly looks my way, and for a heartbeat I think I see a glimmer of sympathy in his gaze. But the moment is gone in a flash, and he resumes glaring at the TV. 

When Pete doesn’t protest I inch closer and slide onto the edge of the bed. I try not to notice Pete drawing the covers up tighter around him, like a kid hiding from the monster under his bed. When he looks at me, he no longer sees a brother; I’m a monster in his eyes. Pete’s reaction hurts more than drowning in a river of lava. At least he’s not screaming at me, that's got to count for something, right? 

I slip my worn backpack off my back, and dig out a collection of comics: Warrior Angel, Hawkman, Zorro, and so many more, all sticky with remnants of childhood. Books I’ve let catch dust at the bottom of my closet. Books full of myths and lies. Books I have no use for any longer. But once upon a time two naive boys worshipped the ground those heroes walked on. 

“I thought these would cheer you up,” I say helplessly, but now I realize it was a mistake bringing them. They’re an echo of a past I can’t return to. 

Pete halfheartedly flips through a Hawkman comic. Hawkman is in mid leap on the cover, inches from pummeling Vandal Savage with his mace. I grit my teeth. It’ll be nice if I could solve all my problems with a well placed left hook. No. I’m no hero, and violence never did anyone any good. 

“Just what I needed,” Pete grumbles. “More things to do in bed,” he lets the book fall limp in his lap, still not looking at me. I try to read his expression, but for once Pete is as stoic as a statue. Daphne took all the light with her when she left. I can almost feel the shadow of a dementor hovering over the room, sucking all the joy out of the air.

“You delivered your package, you can go now mutant” he subtly inches away from me. I don’t know what I expected, but not this. I thought at least he would humor me, hear me out. This is the same guy who convinced me to run to China and get us some real Chinese food when the parents were out of town. I used to be the cool meta-human in town with multiple tricks up his sleeve. Now I’m just the monster who ruined Pete’s life. A hurt expression brushes across Pete’s features and he looks like he wants to say more but is holding back for my sake. 

I’m halfway to the door when Pete says, “You belong in a lab where they can dissect you.” I’m grateful my back is turned so he can’t see the treacherous tears that leak out of my eyes. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

I lock myself in my room for the remainder of the evening, playing WordBattle with LadyTruth on the family iPhone. Funny how a complete stranger has been my only friend the last few months. Though I’m not sure I would exactly call us friends. What do you call someone you play word games with online, and occasionally chat with? A playmate? This is new territory for me. But playing virtual games with LadyTruth is all I can do to wipe the memory of Pete’s harsh words from my mind. Labrat. I deserve to be a labrat, that’s all I am to him now. Part of me knows he’s right. No human should have this much power at their disposal. In the comics I’m the kind of freak the JSA would kick into next week and lock away in some lab to dissect and see what makes me tick.

I furiously punch in the word ‘demon’ connecting it to overopinionated. The row now reads: Overopiniatedemon. And the ‘A’ spells out Alien on the row below. There is a ding and a chat box pops up on screen.

**LadyTruth:** FYI you’re about to run out of synonyms for monster. Something on your mind Skywalker16?

I swear and lean against the plush pillow in bed. I hate that I am so transparent a stranger, a thousand miles away in Metropolis can see right through me. I quickly type a reply.

**Skywalker16:** You’re reading into things again.

**LadyTruth:** But am I right? There is something on your mind!?!

When I don’t respond immediately she fires back with another response.

**LadyTruth:** I LOVE BEING RIGHT

I roll my eyes, but she can’t see that, so I send her an emoji of it.

**LadyTruth:** SPILL

I groan. I am not about to open up to a complete stranger; she could be a psycho crazy with the face of a troll for all I know. We’ve been talking for three months, but I’m still not comfortable sharing more than the basics: Farm Boy from a small town in the middle of Nowhereville.

**LadyTruth:** Don’t pull the stranger card.

**LadyTruth:** Silly, we’ve met before, once upon a dream.

I laugh outright and nearly fall out of my chair.

**Skywalker16:** You stole my line!

**LadyTruth:** So, what’s eating you Farm Boy?

**LadyTruth:** Do I need to come kick someone’s ass?

The corner of my mouth quirks up into a smile, and my cheeks grow warm even though there is no one here, but me in this messy room. I don’t know who she is, or what LadyTruth even looks like, but she never fails to lift my spirits. Some days she makes me feel like I could fly to the moon and back. But that’s crazy. She’s not Lana Lang. She’s a stranger online with weirdly bad spelling, and a sick sense of humor.

**LadyTruth:** You still there ?

**LadyTruth:** The suspense is killing me.

Knowing LadyTruth, she is not going to stop blowing up the chat till I give some sort of explanation for my sudden obsession with the word monster today. I hadn’t even realized I was doing that. I sigh.

**Skywalker16:** Cool your jets.

**Skywalker16:** It’s been an off day.

In all honesty it’s been an ‘off ‘last few months. Nothing has been the same ever since the accident.

**LadyTruth:** And?

**Skywalker16:** And it’s none of your business.

**LadyTruth:** I’m making it my business.

I frown at the screen. She’s impossible. I’ve never met a more nosy, bossy, loud individual in my entire life. At least, I’m dead positive she is loud in person.

LadyTruth: Let me guess, your cousin stole last piece of apple pie and now you’re as broody as Bruce Wayne.

I jump at the chance to deflect the attention off of me.

**Skywalker16:** Have you met Wayne? FYI there should be a ‘the’ between stole and last.

She sends an emoji of the middle finger. Well, that’s not very ladylike, I want to say, but refrain myself from typing anything.

**LadyTruth:** Silly, nobody has seen Wayne in seven years. Probably dead in some ditch.

I hope not. The poor guy has been through enough tragedy. Losing his parents at such a young age couldn’t have been easy. Worse, he saw the whole thing. It’s been a decade since the Waynes’ murder, and it’s still the hot topic of the week. It’s no mystery why the young billionaire has hid himself from civilization. He can’t show his face without whispers of his parents following him like a plague. Even in Smallville they talk. I'd never forget the time his car broke down in town and Alfred and Bruce hid out in our barn from prying eyes. He probably doesn't remember me. I feel bad for the kid. I can’t imagine losing my parents. I would be lost without them.

**Skywalker16:** What do you think he’s been up to all these years?

**LadyTruth:** I don’t want to talk about Bruce Wayne, I want to talk about you. What’s bothering you?

**LadyTruth:** And don’t say nothing. I’ve got mad skills. I can tell when someone is lying to me.

I don’t doubt her skills for a second. I imagine LadyTruth is as headstrong, and driven as Margaret Thatcher. Sometimes she scares me with her intuition. I grit my teeth. So much, for hiding behind Bruce Wayne.

**LadyTruth:** You can trust me.

That’s exactly the sort of thing a serial killer would say to get me to lower my guard. But a serial killer would not send me embarrassing pics of her baby sister, or open up about her rough homelife. LadyTruth became mother as well as sister after her mom died from Leukemia. Her father, the General was never around, and when he was, he ran the household like a military camp. I let out a long sigh. It can’t hurt to have someone to talk to besides my parents. I type a message before I lose my nerve and chicken out.

**Skywalker16:** I hurt someone close to me recently, and I don’t think I can come back from that.

I wait with bated breath for her response. This is the most I’ve opened up to her since . . . well, since forever. I expect her to ghost me after a revelation like that. A second ticks by, three seconds, sixty seconds, and the air bubble appears in the chat box.

**LadyTruth:** I find that hard to believe.

**LadyTruth:** You’re such a chill guy. I can’t imagine you getting in a fight.

I type a quick response, and debate deleting it. Before I lose my nerve I click send. My heart thumps in my chest erratically and the inside of my palms grow damp with sweat. I feel like I’ve run a marathon around the world.

**Skywalker16:** He will never walk again because of me.

**LadyTruth:** Never say never. There are always tons of stories on the news about paralyzed victims walking again.

She must be watching a different news channel than me. I’ve never heard of such miracles.

**Skywalker16** : Name one

She responds in a matter of seconds.

**LadyTruth:** Pat Rummerfield

I roll my eyes. Of course she has an answer. She has an answer for everything. Unbelievable.

**LadyTruth:** Don’t take my word for it, google him.

**Skywalker16:** I believe you. But this is an entirely different situation.

**LadyTruth:** Did your friend break his neck?

**Skywalker16:** No

**LadyTruth:** Then if Rummerfield can walk again so can he.

**Skywalker16:** Maybe.

**Skywalker16:** Why are you being so chill about this? I nearly killed my best friend. You should be running for the hills.

**LadyTruth:** I don’t run, it ruins my hair.

I let out a howl of laughter and knock over my pencil holder in my haste.

“Crowhead?” Jill pushes the door open, and squints at me. “Who are you, and what have you done with Clark?” She takes one look at me and then the chat on the screen and grins like the cheshire cat. “Awe,” she makes kissy noises, and puckers her lips. “Itty Clarkikins has a secret girlfriend!”

And suddenly I’m tackled by a whirlwind of pink and black. I choke on a wad of pink hair as Jill leans over me to snatch the old iPhone. I dash to close out of the chat, but Jill already has the device in her clutches and jumps back to avoid me.

“Give it back!” I jump to my feet, and lunge towards her. She dances out of my way easily. I remind myself I’m the one with superspeed. The world slows down around me as I brace to run towards her, but I falter, heart constricting in my chest. I’m seconds away from another Pete Ross. I swallow hard, and force myself to stay rooted in place. I don’t dare try using my powers not after what happened, especially not in close quarters.

“I’ve got mad skills,” she reads LadyTruth’s message out loud. I scowl at her, powerless to do anything else. “Mad skills in bed,” she wrinkles her eyebrows at me suggestively and chuckles. I feel my face turn crimson with embarrassment.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” I protest. “Jill give it back!”  
“Not your girlfriend eh?” She turns her back on me. My heart is lodged in my throat as I realize she is typing. “Then you won’t mind if I ask her what color underwear she is wearing?”

“You won’t dare!” No, of course she would. Jill Kent lives to make my life miserable. I try wrestling the phone out of her grasp, and fail miserably. Jill whacks my glasses off and dashes out of the room, cackling madly as she runs down the hall. I fight against the sudden swarm of colors, quickly retrieve my glasses off the floor, and chase after her. I trip over the threshold on my way out, and tumble into the wall across the hall. My framed baby photo on the wall, shakes feebly and crashes to the ground, splattering glass all over the wooden floor. I pay it no mind, and chase after Jill, who is already half way downstairs. Even at normal speed I am faster than Jill Kent. Yeah right. If that’s the case, why did you let her beat you downstairs?

Memaw pokes her head out of her room by the stairway, blinking confusedly at the two of us. “Kent . . . Kent halt this foolishness at once!” she screams after the both of us, but I pay her no mind.

I finally catch Jill behind the kitchen counter and rip the phone out of her sweaty palm, but the damage is already done. “Lots of fuss over someone who is ‘not your girlfriend,’” Jill says with air quotes.

“What girlfriend?” Mom’s head pops up from behind the counter, holding fresh baked pie in her arms. Mom looks like Strawberry Shortcake’s eccentric aunt wearing that strawberry patterned apron.

“Jesus Christ Mom!” I jump back, and fall into one of the chairs. “You scared me.”

She sets the pie down next to the other thirty pies crowding the countertop. It’s that time of year again. Preparations for The Festival of light are in full swing, and the house is filled with the warm scent of fresh, baked goods. “What’s this I hear about a girlfriend?”

“She’s wearing black underwear,” Jill offers unhelpfully. Jill whistles appreciatively. “I had no idea you were such a player Clarky.”

“She’s not . . . I’m not,” my cheeks turn crimson. “Shut up.”

“Clark, sweety,” Mom starts to say, carefully spreading some whip cream over a chocolate pie with a spatula. “Sex is not exactly what I had in mind, when I told you to open up more and try new experiences.” I can’t believe she said that with a straight face. Memaw waddles into the kitchen, her head a storm cloud of white. She wraps her flower robe tightly around her ample frame. Just my luck the walls are paper thin.

“Did someone say sex?” Memaw turns a withering gaze on Jill that speaks volumes. “That is not very ladylike, young lady.” Jill maturely sticks her tongue out at her.  
“Apparently Clark has a lady friend,” Mom explains, a twinkle of laughter in her eyes. But one look and I can tell she is simply happy I am out of my room.

“Oh, thank heaven,” Memaw crosses herself. “Lana is such a sweet girl. About time too!” Memaw persists. “You’ve only been in love with Lana Lang since you were seven.” Lana Lang. The girl next door that knocks the breath out of me with a single look. I can’t get within five feet of Lana Lang without turning into a total freak show. “So long as I live, I’d never forget when you asked me if Lana was an angel,” Memaw beams.

“Yeah Clark, what would Lana think of LadyTruth? Your online buddy!” Jill smirks evilly.

I bury my face in my hands. This is not my day. “It’s not like that.” I grumble into my hands. “I’ve never even met her.”

Memaw’s smile slips off her face and her eyes grow wide with horror as she processes the meaning of my words. “You, stupid, stupid, boy,” Memaw whacks me across the head with a towel. “Have we taught you nothing?” she raises one thin gray eyebrow at me.

Mom and Memaw hysterically start to scream at the same time and I feel like my head is about to explode. I only catch snippets. Unsafe. You should know better. You can’t trust people online. She could be a hooker. Memaw laments the loss of a sensible girl like Lana, and spits out LadyTruth’s name like a curse word.

I have to raise my voice to be heard of the ruckus that has exploded in the kitchen between the women in my life. Girls are so loud. “LadyTruth is not my girlfriend. I’m still as alone as Boo Radley. Buzz off!”

“I don’t think you realize how serious this is, Clark,” Mom wanders around the counter to stand next to Memaw, and bites her lower lip worriedly. I glare at Jill, who has made herself comfortable at the kitchen table munching on a bag of Dorito chips, as if she’s watching her favorite Tv show unfold in front of her. “We know nothing about this girl . . . if she is a girl at all, let alone your age,” Mom goes on a tangent. “She could be a Government Agent hunting for . . . for metahumans like you.” I don’t miss how she falters before saying metahumans, but I can’t figure out why. I frown at her. Am I not a metahuman?

“She’s not!” I protest, but even as I say it, doubt creeps into my heart. LadyTruth’s father is a General, but that could mean nothing. Lots of kids have generals as parents. It is just one of those funny coincidences. I sadly come from a family that is afraid of the Government. Specifically afraid of rogue agents taking me away.

“I don’t want you talking to her any longer,” Mom says in her no-nonsense tone. “As of this moment, you have lost your phone privileges,” she extends a hand to me, nodding expectantly at the phone on the counter.

  
“You can’t do that!” I shove the phone into my pocket before she has a chance to grab it. I shoot out of my seat so fast I knock the chair over. “She’s the . . .” I falter as I realize what I almost said. She’s been the only bright spot in these miserable last few months.

  
Dad decides to stumble through the door at that moment, his sandy hair coated with white dust from the field. The evening light shines through the open door, turning his golden hair white. He takes one look at the women huddled around me with various expressions of displease, and groans. “Just once, I would love to come home to a peaceful family,” he glances over at Jill knowingly, as if there is no doubt in his mind she’s the culprit that started this mess.

  
“Clark is speaking to a strange girl online,” Mom says in the same tone she would say, ‘Clark has been arrested for armed robbery.’ I would make a wicked robber if my career as a farm boy doesn’t pan out.

  
“So?” Dad kicks his muddy boots off by the back door, and heads straight for the fridge. I grin triumphantly at Jill.  
“He could be in danger Jonathan!”

  
“Oh dear, whatever should we do?” He shuts the fridge, beer bottle in hand. “Our son is being attacked by a sea of raging hormones, heaven help us.”

  
“This is no joking matter Jonathan!” Memaw scolds her son. “You can never trust people online.”

  
“You also can’t trust a drunk surgeon, yet I’m still kicking,” he winks at me. Mom is not amused by dad’s joke about his heart transplant. He takes a swig of beer. Mom’s face twitches with the effort of not saying anything about his poor choice in diet. “So what, if Clark has found a friend online?” He takes another swig, smiling contently. “Online dating is the new rage amongst the youngsters.”

  
“We’re not dating.” I add in my two cents, but no one is listening. Mom has eyes only for Dad. Her face turns as red as her hair.

  
“Well, that is all swell Jonathan. I’m ecstatic you are in tune with the latest teenage trends,” Mom’s eyes alight with fire. “But Clark is not like other teenagers.” Gee thanks for reminding me Mom. I hadn’t noticed when I bench pressed the tractor at the ripe age of two.

  
“You might as well lock our son in a glass bowl,” Dad grunts. I’m positive she would do just that, if it were possible. Mom’s freckles bounce out against her white skin and start to resemble miniature pepperoni. In one swift movement she grabs the beer bottle out of Dad’s hand and chucks it in the trash can, glaring at her husband.

  
Dad’s expression contorts in dismay. “Jiminy Cricket!” He growls, but he looks like he has a dirtier word in mind, but he’s keeping it PG for Jill and my sake. Dad’s hands claw through his hair. “Goddamnit woman! That was the last beer bottle!”

  
“Good,” Mom says stiffly. “You’re starting to get a beer belly.”

  
Dad looks down at his midsection and shrugs. “Nah. I’m good.”

  
“For how much longer Jonny Boy?” Mom wrinkles her nose at him and slaps him in his belly. “You’re not a spring chicken anymore. You’re almost sixty!”

  
They start to bicker, which I’ve learned is their love language. While they’re distracted with each other, I take the chance and sneak outside, reassuringly folding my fingers around the hard edge of the phone. When I want to be I can be as stealthy as a Ninja warrior. Not a single soul noticed me leave.

  
The cold Winter breeze is a breath of fresh air. I walk the seventy feet to the barn, trudging through muddy snow that has long since lost its white sheen. Penny knickers excitedly when I step into the toasty barn. The mare skips in her stall, and looks at me with big, begging, brown eyes.

“Sorry, girl, no sugar cubes today,” I stroke her smooth, long face and mutter soothing words, leaning my forehead against her brow. “At least, I know you’ll always be on my side.” I laugh as she nudges my hand aggressively. I pet her till she calms down and find a quiet corner behind a mound of hay to assess the damage Jill has caused. I skim through the messages, my face growing redder with each message. I’ve got some serious damage control to rectify.


End file.
